finds you and goes hunting up her frying pan. You know, if we'd sent her after old Fritz, the war would've been over in a week."
Chattering on, Jack led him downstairs to the side door and stopped there to instruct him to pull up his collar. With a hand around Sutton's wrist, Jack plunged first into the cold and dark, guiding the way across the alley to a door that opened into a grimy flight of stairs going into pitch blackness. "One floor up," Jack said, studying him in the light of the bare bulb directly overhead. "You all right?"
"Give me a minute." Sutton leaned against the wall. Just drawing a breath made his head throb anew. "One flight, you said?"
Jack's brows knit. "Aw, hell. You were in the hospital, weren't you? You walked back here? From St. Elizabeth's?" Jack took his suitcase and put an arm around him, starting him up the stairs. Every few steps they stopped to rest and by the time they were near the top, Sutton leaned on him out of sheer necessity. Jack didn't seem to mind. "Saturday, right? When we went out. You were upstairs. I would've asked you along but I didn't think you'd want to go. You play pool?"
"No. Well, billiards." Sutton let out a breath of relief as they came into a hallway and stopped in front of the first door.
"Yeah, I figured." Jack unlocked the door and switched on a standing lamp. The room, with its older furnishings, would have been as respectable as any Sutton had seen if it were anything close to tidy.
"I take it you don't care for housekeeping," he said, breathing a tired laugh.
Jack set down the suitcase. "I said it was big. Never said it was clean." He waved a hand toward a claw-footed sofa half-buried under magazines and a couple of old quilts. "Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?"
"Please." Sutton took off his coat and draped it over his suitcase. Jack had gone into the kitchen so he moved to the sofa and sank against a cushion to wait for his drink.
The room was chilly but he didn't mind it. He was glad to be sitting, surrounded by a quiet broken only by distant street sounds and the occasional footfall on the floor above. It seemed unreal that he was safe again, and sheltered, instead of walking the dark streets to God knew where. If Jack suspected the true reason behind his disappearance, he showed no sign of it. He was being so generous, Sutton felt guilty for not divulging the whole truth. Jack might not be bothered by it--but Sutton couldn't face taking the risk just yet.
That worry yielded to a more immediate concern brought on by crushing weariness. He didn't suppose Jack would mind if he went to bed early--or even closed his eyes for a few minutes just now. The miserable combination of an aching head and sick stomach had eased. He didn't know whether Jack meant him to sleep on the sofa, but he could sleep right where he was and be content for the longest imaginable time. Not forever, just yet, but long enough to find the world if not tender and consoling, at least grudgingly sympathetic when he woke.
- Twelve -
Jack had his share of overnight guests, but none who'd slept on the sofa before. Even Harry bunked with him, at a wary distance of course, or slept in one of the other two bedrooms. But Sutton was lost to the world and Jack saw no point in waking him just to move him to a bed.
Sunday night, Esther had mentioned not seeing Sutton all afternoon, but Jack hadn't thought anything of it. When Sutton didn't show up for work Monday morning, Jack figured he'd done what Jack had expected him to do eventually. Tuesday morning came and Esther had reported worriedly that Sutton had left his suitcase and some clothes behind. And though Jack had reassured her, he found it a little worrisome, too.
He had considered telegraphing the railroad offices in Topeka, himself, to make sure Sutton had gotten home. But in the middle of supper, who should walk in but the wayward errand boy, looking as though he had taken a pretty
Chattering on, Jack led him downstairs to the side door and stopped there to instruct him to pull up his collar. With a hand around Sutton's wrist, Jack plunged first into the cold and dark, guiding the way across the alley to a door that opened into a grimy flight of stairs going into pitch blackness. "One floor up," Jack said, studying him in the light of the bare bulb directly overhead. "You all right?"
"Give me a minute." Sutton leaned against the wall. Just drawing a breath made his head throb anew. "One flight, you said?"
Jack's brows knit. "Aw, hell. You were in the hospital, weren't you? You walked back here? From St. Elizabeth's?" Jack took his suitcase and put an arm around him, starting him up the stairs. Every few steps they stopped to rest and by the time they were near the top, Sutton leaned on him out of sheer necessity. Jack didn't seem to mind. "Saturday, right? When we went out. You were upstairs. I would've asked you along but I didn't think you'd want to go. You play pool?"
"No. Well, billiards." Sutton let out a breath of relief as they came into a hallway and stopped in front of the first door.
"Yeah, I figured." Jack unlocked the door and switched on a standing lamp. The room, with its older furnishings, would have been as respectable as any Sutton had seen if it were anything close to tidy.
"I take it you don't care for housekeeping," he said, breathing a tired laugh.
Jack set down the suitcase. "I said it was big. Never said it was clean." He waved a hand toward a claw-footed sofa half-buried under magazines and a couple of old quilts. "Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?"
"Please." Sutton took off his coat and draped it over his suitcase. Jack had gone into the kitchen so he moved to the sofa and sank against a cushion to wait for his drink.
The room was chilly but he didn't mind it. He was glad to be sitting, surrounded by a quiet broken only by distant street sounds and the occasional footfall on the floor above. It seemed unreal that he was safe again, and sheltered, instead of walking the dark streets to God knew where. If Jack suspected the true reason behind his disappearance, he showed no sign of it. He was being so generous, Sutton felt guilty for not divulging the whole truth. Jack might not be bothered by it--but Sutton couldn't face taking the risk just yet.
That worry yielded to a more immediate concern brought on by crushing weariness. He didn't suppose Jack would mind if he went to bed early--or even closed his eyes for a few minutes just now. The miserable combination of an aching head and sick stomach had eased. He didn't know whether Jack meant him to sleep on the sofa, but he could sleep right where he was and be content for the longest imaginable time. Not forever, just yet, but long enough to find the world if not tender and consoling, at least grudgingly sympathetic when he woke.
- Twelve -
Jack had his share of overnight guests, but none who'd slept on the sofa before. Even Harry bunked with him, at a wary distance of course, or slept in one of the other two bedrooms. But Sutton was lost to the world and Jack saw no point in waking him just to move him to a bed.
Sunday night, Esther had mentioned not seeing Sutton all afternoon, but Jack hadn't thought anything of it. When Sutton didn't show up for work Monday morning, Jack figured he'd done what Jack had expected him to do eventually. Tuesday morning came and Esther had reported worriedly that Sutton had left his suitcase and some clothes behind. And though Jack had reassured her, he found it a little worrisome, too.
He had considered telegraphing the railroad offices in Topeka, himself, to make sure Sutton had gotten home. But in the middle of supper, who should walk in but the wayward errand boy, looking as though he had taken a pretty
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